I am a child of many mothers.
My mothers come in many forms, in various shapes and personalities, but all sprung up in my life in periods that they were needed. True to form, a mother recognizes a hurting child without hearing him cry, and nurtures him.
You may perhaps recognize some of them too as your own: the mother hens in our group of friends, the flamboyant mudra, the wiser (not necessarily older) bestfriend, even a former college professor and of course, our very own, whose wombs birthed us into this world.
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